Chapter 17
After paying her respects to the Queen Mother, Deborah turned eagerly to the man in white. “Simon!”
But the moment he turned around, her heart dropped.
He was wearing white–the color Simon always favored. But there was no beauty mark at the corner of his
It wasn’t Simon. It was Damian.
Deborah froze, her whole body stiffening.
“So even my brother’s new bride can’t tell us apart,” Damian said coolly, his gaze distant and unreadable.
eye.
The Queen Mother, well aware of Damian’s sharp tongue, jumped in quickly to smooth things over before Deborah could offend him further.
“Damian never wears white,” she said with a light laugh. “Even I mistook him for Simon at first glance–how could we blame Deborah?”
“Come now, child, come sit with me, she said, taking Deborah’s hand.
The moment their hands touched, the Queen Mother frowned. “Why are your hands so cold? Was it too windy by the pool?”
“I’m fine, Your Majesty. Really, there’s no need to worry.”
Deborah took a seat beside her, subtly shifting away from Damian as much as possible.
He hadn’t drawn on the beauty mark. He was here today as Prince Damian. But just last night, he’d shared a room with her while pretending to be “Simon.” She wondered, ‘What exactly is this man up to?”
Still worried, the Queen Mother called out, “Someone fetch a cloak for the Princess Deborah.”
“No need for all that,” Damian said. “She can wear mine.”
He took off his outer robe and handed it to a palace maid.
The maid blushed as she accepted it, stealing a few glances his way. She’d never seen Damian wear white before–and now, dressed in it, he looked impossibly striking, almost otherworldly.
The robe was brought to Deborah.
But every fiber of her being rejected it. “I—I’m really fine. I don’t need-
“What’s wrong?” Damian’s voice cut in, calm but with a razor edge. “Is it my robe you dislike—or me?”
Deborah’s heart went cold. Before she could say a word, the cloak was already draped over her shoulders–still warm from his body. The heat made her skin prickle with unease.
The Queen Mother chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re Simon’s older brother, and you’ve been close since childhood. Of course Deborah doesn’t mean anything by it!
“Look at you just one sentence and you’ve got our poor little Deborah so flustered!”
She patted Deborah’s hand. “Don’t mind him, dear. He’s always had a rough temper and a colder face to match.”
“But honestly,” she added with a knowing smile, “he’s never shown the slightest warmth to any other woman. Not a flicker of interest. And yet today, he’s giving you his cloak. That says something, doesn’t it?”
The Queen Mother meant to comfort her, but Deborah just felt colder inside.
She glanced up at Damian, and instantly the memory of the night before came flooding back–his body over hers, the desperate heat of their kisses, how utterly he had consumed her.
Her stomach turned. She instinctively tugged at the cloak, wanting to take it off–but she didn’t dare.
Still, her discomfort was obvious, and Damian’s expression darkened.
“Go ahead and reject it again,” he said under his breath. “And I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Deborah’s hand trembled as she picked up her fork. With a sharp clang, they clattered against the bowl. “I wasn’t—”
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Chapter 17
“What’s wrong with you, boy?” the Queen Mother snapped, her voice sharp with anger. “Bully her one more time, and I’ll show you what regret feels
like!”
She thought, ‘Can’t he see how frightened the poor girl was? He knows full well his temper can scare people out of their wits!‘
“Your Majesty…” Deborah just wanted the tension to end. The last thing she wanted was more trouble.
The Queen Mother gently squeezed her hand. “Don’t mind him, sweetheart. That sour face of his–he was born with it. Just pretend he’s not even there.
“Now come on, eat something. Once we’re done, we need to head to the Harmony Court for prayers.”
Deborah nodded, lowered her head, and quietly continued her meal.
The morning was slipping by. After breakfast, the Queen Mother and her attendants left first to prepare the ceremonial offerings with the Royal
Seer.
Deborah once again found herself sharing a carriage with Damian.
She glanced at him–still dressed in white–and couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Your Highness… what exactly are you trying to do?”
Damian didn’t answer. He just stared at her. At first his gaze seemed icy, but the longer it lingered, the more it burned.
༣ ཋར ་
That same unreadable look again–deep, intense, and unsettling. It made her skin crawl.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the carriage curtain. She wondered, ‘Could I jump out now? Is it too late?‘
But before she could even finish the thought, Damian’s voice sliced through the silence–low, sharp, and full of threat. “Touch that curtain, and I’ll strip you bare and throw you out. Go ahead–try me.”
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